Holding my breath until the weekend. Some weeks feel like ascending Everest—with its peak being my two days off, of course. Everest even contains the word “rest,” as well as “ever,” which to me means perpetual leisure and not death. Imagine having leisure forever. This would not be like something enjoyed by a vampire, forContinue reading “Ever-rest”
Category Archives: prose
Shell
Once I found a seashell that I still have to this day. It was carried ashore by the belligerent tide at Jones Beach State Park in New York when I was a child. And now, as I feel tossed by my turbulent thoughts and frozen by frightening uncertainties, I hold onto it for solace —Continue reading “Shell”
On personal solubility
I’ve pinned a button onto my jacket that denotes me as soluble. Pure and simple. It’s a blue button with white text. I’ve a high potential for condensation. I feel I could dissolve like salt in warm water. In an argument, I can disintegrate into clumps like acrylic in an acetone bath. Don’t ever wetContinue reading “On personal solubility”
Two Eggs
First of all, the eggs in my dream were not in their carton. They stood upright, transfixed inside my fridge, side by side as if a married couple on their porch. Who knows what they were looking at? Perhaps each other. Observing them, they struck me as enigmatic, and so of course I thought ofContinue reading “Two Eggs”
Lofty living with my cat
When my cat is on my bed there is nothing left for her to attain. In her feline world, it is the pinnacle of places in which to rest and roam. My bed is like New York City, where there is nowhere left to go. Meaning, anywhere else is a step down. So you justContinue reading “Lofty living with my cat”
Morning Meanderings
A cow’s moo and the muffled grunt of Frankenstein’s monster (Karloff). Compare & contrast. ** I am in my cocoon right now, complete with classical music (Chopin’s Mazurkas) coffee and Wayne Koestenbaum’s Pink Trance Notebooks, dudes. In a bubble I might instead be listening to Bach or Brahms and per chance reading Bukowski? ** ThoughtContinue reading “Morning Meanderings”
Smoking cup
Steam rose like pistol smoke from my double shot while I gazed at the Silver State horizon, musing to myself that this was the type of place where Clint Eastwood had had it out with many an unshaven buckaroo, adorned with his quintessential poncho, woven with the colors of coffee & cream.
Next in line
Standing on line at the restaurant, suddenly I am next. It makes me feel like Friday after clocking out at work, where everything’s about to happen. And the waiter or waitress will at some point carry over my tray of food, and everything will be situated just so. There will be a rosebud in theContinue reading “Next in line”
Seamstress
My great-grandmother’s woven basket—a trove the size of a bread loaf—brimming with spare buttons. The wood door to her sewing room ajar. Her threaded Singer perched like a hummingbird amid patterned fabric and spools. The flour on her wood cutting board and maple rolling pin in the kitchen. The smell of confection, like gingerbread andContinue reading “Seamstress”
